


Interlude: It's Your Time to Shine Rodimus Prime!

by prisonmechanic



Series: OMTOP [2]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Animated (2007)
Genre: M/M, Politics, Sequel, Size Kink, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Time Travel, Transformers Plug and Play Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-01
Updated: 2020-02-01
Packaged: 2021-02-19 16:35:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22513870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prisonmechanic/pseuds/prisonmechanic
Summary: Rodimus Prime realizes something odd is going on in Metroplex. But in an attempt to sweep it under the rug he accidently exposes the one real reason he can't get involved.Meanwhile Jazz pieces together that things were just as real as he thought they were. But without guidence he has no idea what to do about it.
Relationships: One-sided Rodimus/ Ultra Magnus, Rodimus/Ultra Magnus
Series: OMTOP [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1619848
Comments: 16
Kudos: 77





	Interlude: It's Your Time to Shine Rodimus Prime!

**Author's Note:**

> I'm back!
> 
> Though with just a teaser for the real sequel.

Rodimus Prime leaned over, examining what he thought would be competition. At least, that was his full instinct. Generally, when one got several Prime's together it was for some sort of expedition. But for some reason, standing in line and with a small twitch to his plating, was a Cadet not even out of training yet. 

Rodimus leaned over to Zeta next to him in the line up, vocalizer low as he spoke, "Any Idea what the frag is going on? I've got training duty this afternoon." 

Zeta's jaw tensed, and it took him a moment to answer, "there's a traitor." 

Rodimus reset his optics, piecing together the implications of what exactly that meant, "Like a Decepticon? Do you know how small we all are compared to them?" 

Zeta rolled his optics, "No. Not a spy. A traitor. A defector. Some _Autobot_ , decided he wanted to be a _Decepticon_." 

The insinuation that he was stupid overrode any shock at the announcement. "I know what a defector is, Zeta," Rodimus retorted.

Beside him, Sentinel Prime huffed through his vents, puffing up his plating and then flattening it, projecting his annoyance among the few of them, “Shut up, both of you. Rodimus, at attention. Ultra Magnus could come receive us at any moment.”

“Rodimus _Prime_. Thank you,”

_Rodimus, Sentinel, Zeta, and the cadet; what did Magnus want with them?_

The doors to Ultra Magnus' opened, and Rodimus shot up back to attention.

Their general waved them in, and like obedient soldiers they entered silently, subconsciously matching pace with one another. If the situation hadn't been so odd, Rodimus likely wouldn't have noticed that detail, but he was far to on edge. 

A defector. An Autobot defector. When had that happened last? During the war? That was before Rodimus had even enlisted. Sure there had been spies that had been outed, but a defector? The notion was so far removed from Rodimus' reality it was impossible to find a way for that to even work. But that still didn't explain why they were here. 

Ultra Magnus wasn't alone in his office. Nominus Prime sat in one of the chairs facing the Magnus' desk. He stood as they entered,the same restrained formality in his field as the rest of them. It gave a stale feeling to the room, even as Rodimus nodded to their newest addition. 

"This is everyone?" Nominus asked. His tone was slightly less formal than Rodimus would have permitted, but the situation was already so odd. 

"It is," Ultra Magnus hummed, "Every Matrix compatible frame on cybertron."

Nominus frowned, "and the colonies? Anyone on record?" 

Magnus scowled, something Rodimus had taken note of happening more and more often now. But worse than him was Nominus. His general posture of attention had faltered, leaving flared plating and an almost snarl on his faceplates. The little things didn’t add up. None of this did. 

“That’s all,” Ultra Magnus insisted, “I need a better description than ‘Matrix compatible’. A physical description, function, alt-mode. Whoever this mech was you have to know more about him than his spark chamber specifications.” 

Nominus tilted his helm down and pinched his nasal ridge. For a moment he looked as if trying desperately to sort something out in his processor, until finally he provided something more substantial, “Bright red and blue. He was likely… his frame was that of a manual labourer. I don’t exactly know his alt-mode. I never saw him transform. He had scars, all along his chassis. Carried an axe as a secondary weapon. He was compatible with the Magnus hammer as well. And a Prime, but decepticon branded.”

He turned, picking up a datapad on Ultra Magnus’ desk, scrolling through it for a brief moment.

“Optimus,” Zeta Provided, “And I think he was reformatted to be compatible.”

Rodimus’ helm swung around, once again finding himself leaning over to look at Zeta Prime. He stood ramrod straight, little to no give in his posture. He couldn’t tell if it was nervousness or confidence, but whatever it was, it caught Nominus’ attention.

Nominus Prime blinked for a moment, staring down Zeta with a perplexed sort of surprise on his face plates as if he hadn’t expected any of them to answer. 

“Everyone else out,” Ultra Magnus boomed, apparently all too ready to pick up on what Nominus was piecing together. 

The three of them; Rodimus, Sentinel and the cadet all fell over each other scrambling out of the door. Someone slammed it shut behind them. Once out of range to be given a reprimand (Rodimus really hated getting extra duties), and halfway down the hall did they dare to address what had just happened. 

Sentinel grumbled, “What the slag has Optimus gotten himself into? The frag was that about being Decepticon Branded?”

Rodimus didn’t like where this was going. The concept-- a space bridge technician going Rouge? Defecting? He had heard of Optimus. Who hadn't though? The prime who lost it all by not following orders, it had been one of the first warnings his training officer had embedded into them. _Disobey and lose it all_. And now it seemed like Optimus was doing just that all over again. 

Rodimus swallowed, "You don't think…" 

The other Prime scoffed, "Optimus was irresponsible, a push over, and utterly useless. But a defector? Unless his processor got damaged in a space bridge accident I doubt he'd actually defect," he paused. Thinking a little more about it, he added, "For his own good I hope this is some sort of misunderstanding. Besides, he's been missing for what? Fifty stellar cycles now? I doubt they'll even find him alive. And that's how it should be." 

Rodimus got the distinct feeling that there was a history there that he didn't exactly understand. Perhaps it had to do with the infamous Aracha 7 incident. 

"I have training," The cadet piped up beside them, "Do you think I can…" 

Rodimus waved him off. The mech wouldn't be much use in this situation anyways, "Yeah yeah. Get going. What's your designation? I'll mention to Kup major what happened." 

"Smokescreen,"

"I'll talk to Kup for ya Smokescreen. Get going."

The mech saluted before turning back down the hall they had come from and towards the training rooms. Rodimus watched him go, wondering idly what 'Matrix compatible' had meant, and how it lined all four of them. 

* * *

Rodimus had a fulfilling life. At least he liked to think so. He had a rigid schedule he was fond of blowing off and then pretending that he had been too busy for, he had been assigned a great team, and he was high enough rank that no one questioned him. Prime-- the title, granted him as much freedom as he needed with exactly enough power to blow off some of the less desirable responsibilities. 

Rodimus brought the high grade to his lips, sipping the fuel and wincing at the taste. He swallowed it quickly, manually having to stop his frame from rejecting the concoction entirely. He slammed the small vessel back down on the bar and stuck his tounge out. 

"Bleh!" He groaned, looking to swerve and glaring, "The frag was that? I think my tanks are going to rot!" 

Swerve only smirked back at him as he poured another two shots of the foul fuel for Ironhide and Hotshot beside him. "Brainstorm calls it nightmare fuel. Don't know where he gets the stuff, but it's damned strong," he half chuckled. 

The fuel sat warmly in his tanks, and after Hotshot and Ironhide gave the same reaction he had, he held up his glass for another shot. 

"Frag that's nasty," Hotshot said as Swerve poured Rodimus another shot. 

"But frag that'll get you overcharged fast," Ironhide added. 

Rodimus downed the next shot, aiming for just that as he usually did at the end of the week. The weight of a defective Prime incurring more of a need for the bliss of ignorance than usual. His processor wandered back to the issue any moment it let him, like an itch he just couldn't scratch. 

"Something on the processor?" Swerve asked. It was always so easy to speak to the bartender. Even without the engex, Rodimus could just sit and talk to the mech. The ability to drown the day away was a bonus. 

But before Rodimus could open his intake, the door chimed, signaling the entrance of another Parton. In Front of him, Swerve stiffened from his pedes up, digits stiffening on the glass he was holding. Rodimus saw Hotshot turn to the door first, but followed his line of sight immediately. 

Jazz Minor. 

Not a regular, and a member of the elite guard. 

Oh, they were all slagged. So. So slagged. 

The entire bar fell silent at the sight of those wings on his chest plates. Everyone in the bar could get arrested, it would be even worse for Swerve. 

Jazz didn't move either, reading much like a mech who had walked in on his commander and his subordinate Fragging. He looked awkward, but not aggressive. But that didn't mean he wouldn't go running home to Sentinel Prime. Pit knew Sentinel would take the chance to take Rodimus' place as Magnus' Favourite. Rodimus needed to defuse the situation. And fast. 

Being the only real mech of rank in the bar, he stood first, putting a servo up and waving, "Hey! Jazz! Care for a drink?" 

The mech only stayed stunned for a moment more, before giving a curt nod and walked over slowly. Though looking more and more robotic with every step, it brought a wash of relief over Rodimus. Jazz looked more like a newcomer than an enforcer for a moment. Perhaps someone had given him an invite? Primus knew the mech could use a break after dealing with Sentinel constantly. 

When Jazz took a seat beside Rodimus he finally spoke, "I don't want anything to drink." 

Okay. Defensive. But it was a start. Rodimus put on his most charming smile and nodded to swerve, _pour_ _another one, I'll handle thi_ s. 

"Alright. But you're missing out. Gave us all quite a scare there, who gave you an invite?" 

Jazz's plating bristled visibly, sending all kinds of warning signals, "Ah… I've known about this place for a bit. Just never thought I'd actually… Come in. Ya know." 

Swerve placed a drink down in front of them both. Jazz looked vizibly offended by the engex, refusing to even touch the glass. But his plating flattened as he seemed to relax. 

Rodimus took a swig of the drink-- something a lot less strong this time, and rubbed a digit against a scuff on the counter, "So what changed then? Got something to celebrate?" 

"No," his answer was definitive and sudden, "No. I just needed an answer I guess." 

Rodimus didn't get it. If he came here for answers, or to run form something, why wasn't he drinking? Why did nothing make sense anymore? He was starting to get the sinking feeling that something was going on just behind the scenes that he just couldn't piece together and It was starting to get frustrating. 

"It ain't gonna bite you, you know," 

"What?" 

"The drink." 

"Oh."

_Why did this have to be so damned awkward?_

There were things he could resort to. If he could get Jazz overcharged he could beat him up out back, drag him back to bed and convince him it was all a dream. 

No. No. That was definitely the nightmare fuel starting to kick in. He couldn't knock out a coworker. Bad idea. Bad Rodimus. 

But he could _frag_ one. 

He leaned over, projecting the idea he was more overcharged than he actually was as he nudged Jazz’s drink. "I promise it won't kill you. Probably will help, even. With the nerves. Makes things a little _looser._ " 

"I'm not drinking Rodimus. Unlike _you_ I have a sense of duty, even in skeevy bars," Jazz actually reached forward, taking the drink and sliding it in front of Rodimus. He snapped his attention forward, intent on keeping away from the engex apparently.

Rodimus huffed. Jazz obviously wasn't having any of it tonight apparently. Prude. 

"Well, hope you got your answers then. I'm gonna go see if Hotshot will spike me. Enjoy your night," He picked up Jazz's drink and raised it to his own lips. He downed the thing in one go, then finishing his own in his other servo. He'd do damage control in the morning if Jazz decided to squeal to high command. 

"Wait," Jazz stopped him, gently placing a servo on his raised arm, lowering it, and the drink. "Sorry. Look. I-- Things just got kinda complicated today and I just don't… don't know what is going on anymore." 

He looked lost, and a little scared like this; sat in a bar, plating raised and visor bright. But he wasn't done talking.

"Promise me. The next mission Magnus gives you, you'll turn it down?" 

"Huh?" 

"Ah, forget it," His visor dulled as he spoke, but apparently the notion emboldened him, and he waved to swerve. He braced his servos on the counter as he asked, "Do you have anything that isn't engex?" 

"We have an energon dispenser. I can throw in some rust flakes for you?" Swerve offered, "We usually just use it for mixing, but I can try and make it at least a little appetizing. This is a fine establishment after all--" 

"Swerve," Rodimus interrupted, "Get the mech his drink." 

Swerve nodded, embarrassed to be caught rambling once again, and turned back to the bar, rummaging around to look for additives. 

"He's just nervous. Elite and everythang," Rodimus motioned to Jazz's chest. 

"You're Elite Guard too you know," 

Rodimus smiled, "Ah. But Ironhide, hotshot and I are regulars. Now what exactly was this about not taking my next mission?" 

"It's nothing, really," Jazz seemed to force out, "Just some stupid suspicion. Things are just getting a little tense around here and I think it's starting to affect my recharge fluxes." 

Rodimus moved to stand and the room spun around him. It made him stumble forward, servos slamming down on the bar in front of him. Perhaps he shouldn't have drank so much so quickly. He steadied himself for a moment, waiting for the room around him to come to a full stop before turning around and repeating the process. 

From beside him Jazz spoke, sounding more concerned than Rodimus had remembered him sounding, "Are… You alright?" 

"Fine, fine," Rodimus took a step down from his seat and another step out into the room, "Jus need to slow--" 

His comm cracked online suddenly, stunning him into attention. Absentmindedly he stood at attention, servo missing his Com the first time he tried to reach it. On the second motion, he hit it, tapping it online. 

"Rodimus Prime, here sir." _Dear Magnus hopefully he didn't sound drunk._

"Oh Rodimus, I'm flattered," Sentinel jeered, "But that can wait, I need you down in intelligence. _Immediately._ " 

Oh there was absolutely no way he could do something official in his state. Rodimus cringed to himself, trying to come up with an excuse through the cloud in his processor. His mouth went dry, and he opened and closed his mouth a few times before actually answering. 

"I'm not on duty," Rodimus argued. _Ha. I said duty._

"Magnus is calling everyone. Get your aft down to intelligence or someone will come get you." 

And with that, his comm fizzled out. 

"Frag, frag, **frag** " Rodimus grumbled to himself. He needed to get sober. And quick. But there was only one way to blow off this much charge this quickly, and Rodimus didn't exactly feel like getting thrown in the stockades tonight. 

_Go out back, set your fuel on fire, and walk out of here sober. No one has to see you're an outlier_. 

Yeah. And if someone did see he'd be hauled away. Even overcharged he could reason that much. He'd seen it before. They'd label him too dangerous to be in public, too unstable to have rank… 

"You alright there mech?" Jazz asked from behind him. 

Rodimus turned back, this time placing his helm in his servo to stop the spinning, "Sentinel. Sentinel needs me to go into work."

He'd shown up to command overcharged before. But he'd been on shift then-- had a plan to deal with everything if he got caught. And he had never been _this_ charged at work before. Just buzzed. Not-- not spinning. He was so screwed. 

"No," Jazz had somehow appeared beside him, crouching under his arm and laying it over his shoulders to support him, "You can't go into Metroplex like this. Let me get you back to the barracks--" 

"Gotta. It's Magnus' order. And it's probably urgent. Probably another Optimus thing." 

Was it just his helm, or did Jazz stiffen under him? Either way, he moved with Rodimus as he tried to make it towards the door. "Fine," He said, "But let me come with you if it's that urgent." 

"Tanks," Rodimus managed. 

* * *

At the very least, the world stopped spinning by the time they made it to intelligence. Outside of the main doors jazz released him and after a few steadying steps Rodimus Prime decided it would be fine so long as he could keep his vocalizer off and intake shut. With Jazz with him, he may just pull it off… Whatever this was to begin with. 

Blurr was seated outside of the main doors. He had slid his back down the wall, curling himself up into a small ball compared to his usual tall, lanky size. When they made it close enough, he could tell the small mech was shaking-- an identifiable _anger/hurt/confusion_ pooling around him, filling the main entrance. 

Remembering his silent rule, Rodimus only approached with Jazz, hoping that his field kept even enough to be comfying, not that he truly had control over it at that moment. 

Jazz on the other hand, shot forward with an urgency unexpected from someone not exactly knowing the mech. But perhaps they knew each other more than Rodimus had seen. He spent most nights at Swerve's anyways. 

Jazz crouched down beside the agent, servo immediately going to his shoulder. He whispered something that the Prime didn't quite catch but it seemed only to spurr Blurr on. He shook softly, but eventually nodded. Almost immediately, Jazz stood back up, pulling open the door and sliding through it, leaving Rodimus to fend for himself. 

He brushed it off, following Jazz into intelligence and was immediately barged by a mess of fields. 

Jazz had stopped right in the doors, making the Prime look around him to see exactly what had everyone so angry and upset. But what he saw forced the air from his vents. 

Intelligence agents riddled the room, most moving away from the action. Shockwave-- Rodimus was even surprised he recognized the mech so easily-- was pinned to the far wall. Sentinel and Ultra Magnus held him there with a significant amount of pressure despite the stasis cuffs rending him completely immobile. The coloring of his playing seemed wrong and almost familiar, though he couldn't exactly place why exactly. 

Rodimus pushed past Jazz, emboldened by the engex and confused by the situation. He crossed the room quickly, brushing past few others in the process. As he approached, Shockwave's singular optic brightened, intimidating Rodimus into a rushed walk rather than a dash. 

"What the frag!?" He hissed to Sentinel. He looked to Ultra Magnus next, trying to piece out some sort of explanation.

Sentinel looked back at him first, optics dark and field more serious than Rodimus had felt it in a long time. He tilted his helm. Becoming Rodimus to lean in a little more so they could speak without the entire room hearing. 

"Turns out Longarm Prime has been a Decepticon Spy-- no no Rodimus shut up, don't interrupt," 

Rodimus shut his intake. 

From beside them, Ultra Magnus cut in, "Zeta Prime has already gone to alert the council. Now, Sentinel and I are ready to Transport Shockwave to Trypticon. But you need to start securing transport and making sure if we put him in the stockades that he can be transferred securely one preparations are made. Is that clear?" 

The nightmare fuel flowing through his lines compounded with the situation and made his helm swim. This couldn't be happening. He and Longarm had had lunch together, gone on missions when they were Majors, they'd _fragged._

"Yes sir," He managed helm almost immediately looking for Jazz. He was going to need help if he was going to survive this night cycle, "How could a mech that big shrink down into Longarm? He had an alt mode and everything--" 

"There will be a formal investigation. One that can be started one Shockwave is safely secured," Ultra Magnus snapped. 

Above him, the one red optic that Rodimus recognized as Longarm forhelm crest stared down at him specifically, like he had some wrong with him. It captured Rodimus' gaze and paralyzed him for a moment. He'd fragged… This _thing._ A one opticed monstrosity that looked so far from a Cybertronian that he didn't even have _servos_ . It looked like the worst the Decepticons had to offer and it had been _their head of intelligence._

"Get going!" 

Sentinel's impatience spurred Rodimus out of his daze. He darted out the way he came in, looking for Jazz as he exited, but the mech was gone already. No bother. 

He just couldn't deal with this kind of slag overcharged. No point now. Time to use that nasty flame of his. 

He needed to get rid of this charge, and fast. If he went to communications and set off there, he could comm Trypticon and avoid cameras all at once. Easy. 

Getting there was a whirlwind of anxiety and trying to piece together how exactly this all fit together. It _felt_ like this was all connected; Optimus Prime resurfacing, Jazz’s warning and Shockwave’s arrest had come in such rapid succession they couldn’t not be connected. But his overcharged processor would not link them, either that or he needed more to work with. Just a few more steps and he could finally burn off the extra fuel. 

He threw himself into the communications hub and shut the door behind him. There were a few mechs on monitor duty, but they stayed at the main consoles, making the private rooms practically desolate. He slipped past the few on duty mechs, staying along the wall of the large room in an attempt to keep attention away from himself. 

He threw himself into the last private room, not bothering to really check if there was anyone else in it. It a determined panic, he started the ignition process before really looking around or gauging the room. 

That assumption was his mistake. 

He turned, ignition starting, and came face to face with a visor he recognized immediately. Jazz stood at the console, and Rodimus took little comfort in the fact he had found the mech. Instead, he all but screamed as he moved back against the door. At this point the flames had been contained to his right servo in surprise and he immediately shook it, trying to put the flames out before Jazz could comment. 

“What the frag?!?”

Too late. 

“Sh sh sh!” Rodimus tried, arm still flailing as he cut the fuel to it, “Quiet, it’s okay! Please just shush!”

“You’re on fire!” Jazz snapped back at him, leaning against the communication console as he tried to get away from the flame. 

“It’s normal!”

“It’s NORMAL!?!” Jazz’s vocalizer raised in volume again.

At long last the flame on his arm died out, and with it went most of his overcharge. The haze of intoxicants was still there, but dulled to a bearable point. The more sober part of him moved forward, servos out reached as he grabbed Jazz's shoulders. 

When jazz winced, Rodimus immediately recoiled, looking at the slightly scorched plating on Jazz's left shoulder. 

"Sorry! Sorry! Please just don't tell anyone--" 

Now relatively sober, something on the console behind him caught his optic. It stopped him in his tracks. 

"Is that the Orion's comm frequency?" the Orion. The ship Optimus had been on just before his disappearance those fifty stellar cycles ago. 

Jazz stiffened and this time he jolted forward, field alight with a different sort of surprise. But almost immediately, his visor darkened and he took a steadying vent.

Rodimus wasn't good at a lot of things; following commands and putting things together chief among them. But there was one thing he did get right. Rodimus knew mechs. He knew when they pulled all of those _matrix compatible_ mechs together that there was something high command wasn't telling anyone. He knew Zeta and Nominus were more involved than they let on. And he knew Jazz was hiding something right along with them. 

He may not know what's going on, not in the slightest, but he could read the situation well enough. He pushed Jazz aside, who moved compliantly, as if it was the least violent thing Rodimus was about to do to him. And he knew that; that occasional timid fear of authority wasn't normal and that it had something to do with a superior officer. 

But he knew well enough not to get involved in any of that. No secrets. No getting involved. Not when his own situation was already so volatile. 

He cut the call, looked back at Jazz, and then wiped the call from the terminal. It wouldn't be hidden from records if someone went looking, but at the very least it covered their tracks for now. 

"I won't tell if you won't," He offered. 

Jazz’s plating and field pickled before he spoke, "Tell what? You're an outlier and that I'm contacting a dead mech? What the pit do you think my answer is?" 

"I'm not an idiot," Rodimus said, "I know _something_ is going on with Optimus Prime. Just isn't my business to try and figure it out. Not my problem." 

"Fine. Deal. Lips are sealed."

* * *

Rodimus liked being Magnus' favourite. Back before the aracha-7 incident, that mech had been Optimus Prime. But now Rodimus had their general's favour, and it lent him all sorts of leaniencies and benefits. 

His favourite of which, was being spiked in Magnus' personal office. 

Rodimus laid back, a servo gripping the edge of the desk right behind his helm as Ultra Magnus thrust up into him. His spike was massive compared to the rest of them, and he wouldn't blame anyone for assuming he had a Decepticon interest for his love of it. 

He didn't. Personally, Rodimus just called himself a size queen. 

The deck under him squeaked softly, only muffled by his harsh gasps and Magnus' panting moans as his pace picked up. It was a telling sign that he was almost finished, and Rodimus almost chided him, but decided better of it. Releasing the desk behind him, Rodimus brought a servo between them, placing it on his node and rubbing small circles into it with the pads of his digits. 

Ultra Magnus' spike flared, hooking into all five of Rodimus' connective rows in one even thrust and pull. Wet like he was, charge fed between them freely, but Rodimus held on, waiting for the best part. 

Ultra Magnus' expression changed to something a little more savage. He pulled back, standing straight up and looking down at their locked arrays. The three unhooked rows of connectors on Magnus spike flared and flattened in the open air between them. Rodimus only had time to shudder before Magnus thrust up and forwards, pushing the last three rows into him with little concern. This time, when he pulled back something in Rodimus gave, and all eight rows on Magnus' spike hooked into all five of Rodimus' receptive rows. 

Rodimus screamed, pinching his own node as charge burst through him. Data flooded him, melding with warnings from his frame at the forced connections. 

He overloaded with another screech as his Magnus did the same. 

For a moment they both lay there, strutless and satisfied. Magnus laid on top of him, the full weight of his chassis weighing down on Rodimus like a weighted blanket. If he had the choice, he'd make this part last longer-- the ache in his valve, laid under his commander, and fans trying to cool them both off. 

But Magnus only ever laid still for a few moments as he came back to himself. And too soon he was standing, trying to shift his spike in a way that didn't further bend his connectors. The process was always a little painful, but worth it. 

Rodimus let him work, shallow thrusts making him wince. He raised his servo back to grip the edge of the desk and he stared up at the ceiling, a million words on his glossa. 

"In a rush?" Rodimus decided on, "We could fuel together if you wanted. We've both missed evening fuel by now." 

Ultra Magnus finally unhooked from him, pulling out and flattening out the connectors out with his servo, looking over for any more damage than strained hinges. Rodimus assumed nothing was wrong when he retracted his spike into its housing and set about looking for a rag in one of the drawers in The desk. 

"No. I've got more paperwork to work on. A new Prime for intelligence won't choose itself you know," he responded. 

Rodimus propped himself up on his elbows, catching Magnus' optics with his own, "Yeah. I actually came in here to talk to you about that. Kinda." 

"Oh? And what exactly about if only _kinda_ about the open intelligence position," Magnus said. He paused his movements though, raising an optical ridge at the Prime sat on his table.

Rodimus sat up fully then, shuddering as his bare valve pressed against the cool of the desk. "Sentinel said you had new assignments for us. I assume some shifting has to be done after all that." 

Magnus turned away then, looking in his shelving unit for the rag he usually had stored for convenience, "What do you think about Agent Blurr? He'd take his job seriously at least…" 

Rodimus rolled his optics, wishing that they could go back to those few moments after Fragging when things weren't _complicated._

"Agent Blur is successful because he's good at following orders. Ask the mech to jump and he'll ask to which orbit. No. Shockwave's secretary… Cliff-something? He might give some sass, but he's capable. And he things for himself," Rodimus reasoned, "Now if we could _please_ talk about my assignment." 

"You know if I had the choice I'd put you on my personal team," Ultra Magnus deflected again, "Sentinel could take the new assignment and you could stay nice and close…" 

Rodimus huffed, swinging his legs out and hopping off the desk fluidly. He moved to the end of the shelving unit as he processed the offer once again. Quickly he picked out the correct drawer and pulled the spare rag out of it and gave his own array a quick wipe. 

A position on Ultra Magnus' personal guard with Jazz and whatever cadets showed promise was exactly what he wanted out of his life. It was almost a guarantee career path to be Magnus himself at some point. But there was one main issue with that--

"You know I don't want the responsibility. Fending Decepticons off and checking in on colonies is my calling Mags. It's quiet out there. You know I like exactly where I am. I'm not looking to do anything else." 

He was an outlier. And getting that close to a situation where he was likely to have to make a choice between outing himself to save Magnus, or letting his spark extinguish was too much of a reality. The outer limits were quiet. Decepticons hadn't even been seen in hundreds of thousands of years. Joining Magnus in any capacity dealing with riots, or investigating this whole Optimus business was too dangerous. 

Patrolling the outer limits was safe, if a bit lonely. 

He loved being Magnus' favourite. He just hated how it constantly reminded him that he would never ever have this. Even if they never conjunxed (and they never would. Rodimus knew he would never put the burden of his death on another mech.), even if they only ever just did _this_ , whatever it was, it was still too risky to take a permanent position here. 

He saw his commanders plating sag as he held the rag out to him, a finality passing between them. 

Thankfully, persistence paid off with Magnus and he finally got to the point, "Construction has started on a new deep space communication hub, on paper. It's a warship in reality, and it will need a Prime to lead it when it's completed. Smokescreen has already been approved for duty as the SIC. But he's new and will need a firm servo." 

Rodimus let his commander take the rag from his servo and wipe off his own array while he thought for a moment. It was a tempting proposal. A few years in deep space overlooking construction and then back to wandering the boarders with a brand new ship and a heavily expanded crew. It would be the closest thing to a premonition that he would ever let himself have. 

There was a pain in that. It settled itself deep in his chassis. The fact he was an outlier meant he couldn't do what he wanted. He would never be Magnus. He would never ever tell Magnus how he felt. 

Then he'd be an Outlier and Decepticon leaning. Autobots built community, they didn't excuse themselves to one mech, that kind of sentimentality got mechs killed. Rodimus Prime deserved to be far away from mechs he could hurt. 

Far away from Magnus and getting exposed by Jazz. 

Far away from Optimus Prime drama. 

At last he convinced his valve panel shut, wincing as something inside him ached. Maybe he'd misaligned his receptors with all the harsh Fragging.

"Do I get to name it?" He asked. 

"Officially? No. But I do, and I'm open to suggestions." 

Rodimus smiled, taking the cloth from Magnus' servos and discarding it to the corner of the room. "Perfect. I'll comm you some 'Suggestions' once I see it for myself. I'm thinking The Nyon… "

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all for the love for this now series! I'm spending today answering comments!


End file.
